We had dinners with his colleagues from work and discussed philosophy theory I had no clue about. They’d thrown a party for him when his book finally released. And I’d put together another one after he got tenure.
I’d gone out on tour for my first literary novel publication and gotten a close-knit group of author friends who all lived in the city. We met up for girls’ nights that didn’t include backstabbing anyone. Sometimes, we didn’t even get out of our sweats or brush our hair or even shower. But we’d have writing marathons. And their husbands got it, which meant Penn fit right in with their sighs about late-night writing sessions and thinking the characters were real.
I didn’t think he could complain. The name on the book said Natalie Kensington. It was he who constantly brought me new inspiration. And he who always made this life worth living.
But even while we had this whole new, beautiful world, we still had the Upper East Side. And we still had the crew.
“Who wants to toast this year?” Lark asked as she sipped the bourbon and passed it to Addie.
“I do,” Penn said, stepping forward.
Lewis downed a large quantity of the bourbon before passing it to me.
“Four years ago, we put our differences aside,” Penn said. “We agreed to come to the Hamptons on Labor Day weekend to finally discuss what happened with Hanna and commemorate her life. Her death was horrible. Our part in it was worse. I’d give anything to go back and fix what we ruined. But we don’t get a do-over. We can only go forward. So I’m glad that we’re here again to pay our respects to Hanna Stratton. We can’t make amends. But we can honor her memory.”
Everyone reached for the drinks that they’d already gotten before I found our traditional bourbon. We raised our glasses to Hanna, as we had the last four years, a silent moment for the person that they’d hurt. To all the people we’d all hurt. And the life that we’d led to be those people.
We drank deep. Letting the past go. Moving on, but not forgetting.
It was a moment of bonding that was good for the entire party. We had our own lives now, but it was important to remember, so we didn’t end up back in that same place.
When I’d washed up on the Hamptons, I’d never guessed that I could fall into this amazing, terrifying group. I’d palpably felt the bond between them. And this distant yearning had grown inside me. They had something—money, status, power—but it was more than that. They had the unshakable knowledge that they would always be there for each other. Their own type of family unit.
I hadn’t understood it, even as I’d dived headfirst into it. I’d never had anything like it. Just me and Amy, which I’d always thought was enough. And somehow … in my deception, I’d finally been accepted. At the moment when I was certain that it wasn’t for me.
As we did every year, we found our way into the heated pool. They complained about Penn’s music. Joked about Katherine being a bitch. Tried to coax Rowe out of his shell. We stayed up late into the night, reminiscing about our past and making all new memories.
And when everyone finally gave up to go to bed, Penn took my hand and guided me down to the beach. The wind picked up as we approached the Atlantic. But we ignored it to stare up at the stars blanketing the night sky.
“There,” I said, finding the crown and pointing out our constellation.
“Here.” Penn fingered the crown around my neck, just like I had known he would.
Standing here with Penn each year felt like a new beginning.
A reaffirming that we’d done the right thing by eloping.
I was crew.
I was a Kensington.
I was just me.
The End